


An Epilogue to a Sad Story that Shouldn't have had One

by saltyfeathers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Demon!Dean, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyfeathers/pseuds/saltyfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a dance they've done before, old hat by now. They fall into step too easily, like the ocean fills every crevice of every sized footprint left behind. They are adaptable, flexible.<br/>And maybe that's not such a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Epilogue to a Sad Story that Shouldn't have had One

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas-“ Cas is reciting, smirk playing at the corner of his lips.  


“Cas, please,” Dean begs, eyes flashing black to green repeatedly. “I’ll be good, I swear.”  


stems the flow of Latin from his lips, steps into the devil’s trap, and grabs the salt-encrusted bonds that are holding Dean to the chair. He yanks Dean forward, chair legs screaming across the floor and echoing around the empty warehouse.  


“You are an abomination,” He hisses, face inches from Dean’s. “You are a dirty, disgusting, filthy, wretched creature that belongs in the deepest circle of hell.”  


“Please,” Dean gasps out, and Cas backhands him across the cheek. He feels Dean’s cheekbone crunch under his knuckles, and smiles when Dean’s head lolls forward, blood dripping tantalizingly slowly from his mouth.  


Cas grabs Dean’s chin roughly in his hand, fingers pressing into the soft flesh underneath his jaw, and he’s pushing hard enough that he can feel the outline of Dean’s tongue playing across his fingertips. Dean whimpers, and Cas shoves him away.  


“You soil the very ground you walk upon, demon.” He turns his back on Dean, picks up the silver flask waiting for him on the table. It’s a hefty weight when it’s completely filled up. The flask used to belong to Dean, but that was a long time ago. It’s Castiel’s now.  


Cas turns back around, weighing the flask in his hand. “Remember this?” He snarls, striding forward in long steps, shoving it in Dean’s face. “Remember when you used to suck back whiskey that tasted like gasoline because it was the only thing that you could feel anymore? Do you remember the heat of it as it burned its way down your throat, or did the hellfire overshadow everything else? What’s hotter, Dean Winchester- hell or cheap whiskey?” He swings the engraved flask at the other side of Dean’s face now, the metal clanging dully against bone in their dusty surroundings.  


“Cas, I don’t- I don’t-” There are tears, now, but Cas knows they’re as false as this demon’s assurances that it’s the same Dean that went to hell all those years ago. The same Dean that sold his soul- a second time- to preserve his brother, who is long dead, and his angel, who wishes he were.  


“You speak lies, Dean Winchester,” Cas hisses, braining Dean with the flask again. “Nothing but falsities. I can see the cavern in your chest, see the hole where you used to burn brightest. Your soul is gone. Long extinguished by those years in the underworld.”  


Dean is silent for a moment, and Cas is breathing hard, despite the fact that he doesn’t need to breathe at all.  


Then his shoulders start shaking, and he’s laughing. It’s a maniacal, broken, twisted thing that’s ugly and so far removed from how Dean used to laugh that Castiel storms to the table, grabs the bowl full of salt, and returns to Dean.  


“Quiet, demon,” He shouts over the laughter, pouring the contents of the whole bowl into Dean’s mouth with one hand, while still holding the flask in the other. He tosses the bowl aside and seals Dean’s mouth shut with the same hand, forces the demon to swallow it all.  


After it’s all been swallowed, Dean manages to break away from Cas’ hand, only to come back and take his index finger in his mouth, sucking and tonguing along the smooth length. Despite the hard years, Castiel’s hands remain soft and pliant. Still not a hunter’s.  


He pulls back with no exclamation, cursing the heat that still pools in his stomach at contact like that. It isn’t Dean, he always has to remind himself. Sometimes, his body doesn’t care.  


Dean chuckles and runs his tongue over his teeth, then licks his lips. Castiel watches the movement, fingers tightening on the flask. His mask is slipping fast. He needs to get this done.  


“omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio…” Castiel continues from memory, but his voice isn’t near as strong as it was in the beginning. It wavers and breaks, and he curses himself for it.  


“You know,” Dean speaks over the exorcism, though he winces at certain phrases, “Before that second roadtrip to hell, Dean- the human Dean, that is- he wanted to do a lot more than suck your fingers. The amount of times he dreamed about sucking your cock, oh man. You wouldn’t believe it. Poor little Deano was all ready to get slicked up for an angel of the lord, but he never thought he was good enough. Enough self esteem issues to keep a therapist in work for centuries, that one.”  


Cas’s voice ends abruptly as he chokes on the last few words, and he turns his back on Dean again, needing a moment to collect himself.  


Back then, he had thought, maybe, there was something. A possibility. A future of some kind for him and Dean. But then too much happened too fast, and the crossroads deal happened without either Cas or Sam learning about it this time, and before they knew it, Dean was back in hell. Sam killed himself trying to get his brother out, and Cas was left alone. Always alone.  


But Dean managed, somehow, to crawl back out of hell, and he searched across the whole country, decimating towns and households and families to find Sam. And when he couldn’t do that, he spelled out Cas’ name in the snow using the entrails of the inhabitants of the street he used to live on as a boy in Lawrence.  


So Dean never thought he was good enough for Cas. It’s the most laughable notion Castiel has ever heard, and if he were in the mood, he would even crack a smile.  


He swings back around on Dean, face chillingly stormy.  


“Dean is gone. Burned away by the home of the damned. You are a pitiful imitation of a human, let alone him.”  


And Dean laughs again, laughs loud and long.  


“You keep talking about burning, angelface. My soul burns, hell burns, fire fire blah blah blah. Who’s to say they aren’t one in the same, hm? Fire cleanses, you know.”  


“Your soul burned,” Castiel clarifies harshly. “And it burned brighter than any other soul I’ve ever seen. Even now, after all this time, I’ve never seen one that shone as bright as yours used to.”  


Dean’s eyes are green at the moment, so Castiel can see the eye roll that’s directed at him.  


“We’ve done this song and dance so many times, feathers. We both know you aren’t going to smite me, because you love me too goddamned much.” Dean smirks, mirroring the one Cas wore earlier. The power balance has shifted with a heavy thud, and Dean is currently holding all the cards.  


“Do not take the lord’s name in vain,” Castiel demands, though there is no conviction in his voice. What lord would allow the righteous man to turn into this?  
Dean’s smile widens, and Cas can only imagine the amount of people he’s lured into his bed with a face like that. It’s covered in blood and bruises at the moment, but it must be so easy for him to lure unsuspecting people to their deaths, because despite it all, he’s still so beautiful that it makes Castiel’s chest ache.  


“Poor angelface,” Dean pouts, “Left by his brothers and sisters. Left by Sammy. Left by Dean. But most importantly?” Dean waggles his eyebrows, triumphant. “Left by daddy. Right at the beginning. And doesn’t that just set a fucking precedent. Everyone’s left you, Castiel. You have no one.” Castiel meets Dean’s eyes, and they’re still so green. “Except me.” And Dean blinks, and his eyes are black again, and Cas has to put a hand over his eyes for a moment because it’s too much.  


He’s still not looking at Dean when he continues the exorcism.  


“omnis congregatio et secta diabolica ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te cessa decipere humanas creaturas-“  


“Just fucking kill me. It’s inevitable,” Dean is shouting over Cas’ hurried, murmured words. “You realize that by keeping me alive, you’re just as to blame for the murders that I commit as I am? Just finish the fucking job!”  


“eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis humiliare sub potenti manu dei-“  


“You’re afraid to be truly alone, Castiel. That’s what this is, isn’t it? Because we both know that any humanity I had left the building a long fucking time ago.”  


Castiel’s voice is starting to shake again, but he tries his best to ignore it and continues on. He’s done this so many times before. He can finish it, for now.  
“contremisc et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine quem inferi tremunt ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-”  


Dean is visibly affected by the exorcism now, his breathing heavy and chest heaving.  


“I loved you, you know,” He hisses out, and Castiel stops in his tracks, the chant evaporating from his mind in seconds.  


“God forbid, it wasn’t just your cock I wanted, feathers. I was so fucking gone on you that I can’t believe you never figured it out. You may as well have hung the moon. I had stars in my eyes every time I looked at you, and you just stared back at me, oblivious as ever. I was in love with you, you poor, stupid son of a bitch.”  


It’s all white noise to Cas now. He’s numb, completely. But Dean doesn’t stop talking.  


“But I guess hell burnt that out of me too, huh? It took my conscience, my humanity, my soul, and my ability to love. It’s all very anti-Disney, if you ask me.” Dean snorts derisively.  


And it kind of clicks for Castiel, then, that this is Dean Winchester sitting in front of him. It’s not a demon possessing him. It literally is Dean Winchester, except in demon form. It’s not some sort of imitation or replica. It’s Dean, twisted and broken and hurt beyond repair, but it’s still Dean.  


And that thought breaks Castiel completely, and suddenly he’s clawing at the lapels of Dean’s leather jacket, holding on for dear life and practically sobbing into his lap.  


“I’m so sorry, Dean,” He cries, feeling something inside himself break as well, relishes in the pain of it. “You sold your soul again, and this time you didn’t do it just for Sam, but for me as well. And I am so sorry, because I wasn’t worth it. I didn’t deserve your soul, and you gave it up for me anyways. And it’s my fault that you’ve become this thing, my fault that your soul is just ash now. It’s all my fault. I don’t need to smite you to kill you, because you’re already dead, Dean.”  


And an angel cries in a demon’s lap.  
***  


Eventually, Castiel collects himself enough to stand up.  


He grabs the flask that’s somehow found its way back into his hand, and downs it. It’s holy water, not whiskey, because whiskey reminds him too much of Dean from back then, reminds him of the burn that he thought he might one day get to feel and taste on Dean’s lips.  


He saves a swallow in his mouth, and glances at Dean, who’s been quiet throughout his whole breakdown.  


He’s going to send him back to hell, again. And he’ll summon him out of perdition, again, when the loneliness becomes too much. It is Dean and Castiel, against the world and against each other, in a way that is entirely upside down and backwards.  


The holy water is tepid in his mouth as he cups Dean’s bruised cheek in his hand. Dean himself is cold, nothing like the burn of whiskey. Souls keep a person warm.  


He kisses Dean on the lips.  


He ignores the stench of sulfur and the blood.  


It’s something he used to fantasize about, kissing that mouth. And now that fantasy is gone, unattainable. And this is nothing like he ever wanted.  


But he figures that maybe, he’s broken enough to start wanting new things. And he wonders if you can ever break something so badly that there’s nothing left to break anymore, eventually. Because he can work with that.  


His tongue skirts out of his mouth, presses against Dean’s lips, seeking entrance. Dean opens his mouth obligingly, and the moment the holy water touches his tongue, he’s screaming, writhing, tendons sticking out in his neck and smoke hissing through the cracks in the seal of their lips. But Cas puts a hand on the back of Dean’s head, holds him in place while the holy water does its job.  


When they break apart, it’s obvious that Dean’s mouth is too scarred at the moment to talk, his throat a patchwork of sizzled skin and charred adam’s apple.  


Cas wipes his mouth with his sleeve and continues the exorcism.  
***  


When all is said and done, Cas looks around at the empty room. Dean’s empty body is still tied up in salt ropes, but Cas will deal with that soon enough. Dean will be fine in the freezer he’s commandeered for himself, on a bed of ice. Any decomposition Castiel will fix later, once Dean re-inhabits the body.  


He sighs, long suffering, and flies off to restock on the ingredients for a summoning spell.  


He saved Dean from hell, once. A long time ago. He brought him back whole and healthy, if not completely healed. He raised the righteous man from perdition.  


He’s done this so many times. Every time he promises himself that this time will be different. 

This time he will succeed in rebuilding the righteous man to his former glory.  


Or maybe the righteous man- the righteous demon- will rebuild him.


End file.
